I Think There's Been a Misunderstanding
by Staticpaws
Summary: On the same day that Sherlock found the envelope, he was kidnapped, taken to a deserted building and mistaken for a man who calls himself 'The Doctor.'
1. Chapter 1: The Night Goes On

**Author's note: **This is my second fanfiction. A lot of thought and effort went into writing this and I'm really proud of it, so I hope you guys like it! I will be posting more chapters soon :3 If you haven't already, please read my first fanfiction the Doctors and the Darkness

Thanks for reading, it means a lot to me.

**Chapter 1: The Night Goes On**

It was raining when Sherlock found the envelope. It was also a Monday. Rain and Mondays don't seem to mix well; the combination is an ultimate source of gloom and sadness. Sherlock was walking back home from Scotland Yard and he was beginning to catch the same insidious 'under the weather' feeling that many already had. The sky was lead grey and frosted in lumps of clouds. London was shrouded in heavy fog and crowded with sullen-faced people arriving home after a hard day of work. Another thing that bothered Sherlock was the lack of anything unusual. There had been absolutely no cases today; not even one crime. Lestrade had called Sherlock into Scotland Yard with a case concerning a robbery but it was written off as a misunderstanding. Sherlock had been itching for something to happen all day and finally, something had.

Something was stuck to his shoe.

Yes, it wasn't very exciting at first; Just a normal envelope; it was large, blue, stationary just from the post office across the road with 'The Doctor' written in small, neat handwriting with a Papermate biro across the front. He could have just left it lying there to soak up the rain in the street; it didn't belong to him after all. But, on the other hand, there was something very intriguing about this envelope. For one, when he picked it up, it was very heavy. Sherlock could see there was no letter in it, yet it was bulging with many contents inside. You can't even send a letter that heavy…it's impossible. Why not send it in a package? Secondly why would someone address a person as 'The Doctor'? Doctor of what, exactly? Physics? Chemistry? Medicine? Sherlock shrugged, picking the damp envelope off the pavement and crumpling it into his pocket. It wasn't much…but if he was lucky, it might be something at least slightly interesting.

As he was walking back to 221b Bakers Street, he stopped to make some deductions. Deductions kept him from getting too bored; it was a way of life. It was late; 9:00pm in the evening in fact-there wasn't many people around. Squinting, he could just make out three people running in his direction. They looked interesting. As the trio came closer, Sherlock saw that one of them was a tall floppy haired man. Quite young. Dressed like an old science professor with a maroon bowtie and a tweed jacket that probably belonged to his granddad. Looked clever…maths nerd, probably. The second was a young woman with long ginger hair that clung to her face in the rain and the third was a young man with a prominent nose and a coat too big for him. They looked like they were in a hurry and since the bus stop was quite near by; they were most probably trying to catch the bus. If he were correct, they would all trip and fall in exactly ten seconds. How could he tell?

10

There was a leaflet for a Chinese takeaway lying directly in front of Nose.

9

Bowtie's right shoelace was undone.

8

Nose would clumsily slip on the rain sodden leaflet, stumble back and tread on Bowtie's shoelace.

7

Judging by the bizarre, awkward way that Bowtie was running; he would fall backwards at a ninety-degree angle.

6

Bowtie would grab Ginger's hand in attempt to stop himself falling…and fail.

5

Bowtie would fall onto Ginger

4

Nose would fall onto Bowtie

3

And they'd all fall into that great big puddle.

2

Right

1

Now.

Sherlock stood watching as his prediction unravelled. They were like dominoes knocking into each other. If John were here right now, he'd probably make a silly remark like, 'Amazing!' or 'Mind-blowing!' But it was quite obvious to Sherlock, really. He was merely noticing things.

Sherlock walked away as he saw a lady helping them to their feet. There was nothing else interesting going on.

Back in 221b, John had yet to arrive back from work. That was also something that Sherlock was missing.

John.

John had been busy with work lately and Sherlock had been solving crimes by himself for the time being. John would arrive home late at night and as a result; in the mornings he was moody and lethargic. This was supposed to be the last day of John's 'course' though. Sherlock didn't see the point of John's 'course' but if finishing it meant that he would stop being so boring and dull, then Sherlock looked forward to it.

With nothing else to do, Sherlock placed the envelope on the table, sliced it open carefully and emptied its contents. Inside there were some very strange things.

Two silver keys tied to a string. Sherlock was sure that they would fit no lock, as the teeth were so intricate. The string was of that used to tie on a parcel, long enough so that you could hang it around your neck. Why anybody would want to wear their keys around their neck, Sherlock hadn't the faintest idea. He held it up and then sniffed it. Felt like it was made of metal, but not any metal that Sherlock was familiar with. At this moment, Sherlock was convinced that they must be costume prop keys. He moved them to one side.

Shoving his hand into the envelope once more, Sherlock pulled out a pocket watch. It looked to be made of a similar material that the keys were made of. Also looked old. Victorian-esque. A fob watch. Sherlock turned it over in his hands, wiping his finger over the strange circular engravings. He could not, for the life of him, read them. It looked a bit like an old ancient language…or maybe it meant nothing at all. He moved his fingers to the clasp and attempted to pull it open. It wouldn't budge. He ran a knife along the edge. It still wouldn't open. Losing interest, Sherlock stuffed it in his pocket, along with the keys. Sherlock pulled the last object out of the envelope. He couldn't properly distinguish what it was. As far as Sherlock was concerned, it was a brass novelty futuristic pen with a green LED screwed on top of it. That wouldn't explain why there were 'claws' on it though. The funny shaped metal claws (or maybe they were prongs?) encircled the green light. Sherlock picked it up and lightly knocked it against the table. It was solid. It definitely wasn't hollow enough to fit any electronics or mechanisms inside of it. _Just a useless chunk of metal. _Sherlock thought, sighing. He was about to toss it to the ground when he noticed a button. A button so miniscule, only he would notice it. It was positioned to the side of the metal pen and it was beckoning for him to press it. What harm could it do? He pressed it.

The door exploded.

It was about 1am when John returned. Sherlock was slouched in his armchair, eyes closed, with his hands clasped thoughtfully together. Sherlock could hear John trudging through the front door, cursing and entering the living room. He could also feel John glaring at him. Sherlock didn't look up.

"The door" John said, standing, arms crossed in the doorway.

"What about it?"

"It's gone."

"Yes"

"The bathroom door, Sherlock. It's blown to bits."

"Yes."

"_You _blew it to bits."

"Yes."

"With one of your stupid experiments."

Sherlock shifted a bit in his chair and opened one eye at John. "There were some…complications."

"Complications?"

"This." Sherlock dug his hand into his pocket and brought out the peculiar brass pen thing. "What is that?" John questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm thinking." Sherlock replied lazily. John took the thing from Sherlock and held it up to the light. It looked dangerous-or suspicious at least. Suddenly, the brass pen thing extended, made a high-pitched buzzing noise and lit up green. The television turned on. "So…it's a TV remote?" John asked, clearly unimpressed. Sherlock got up from the armchair and began pacing around the table. "That's the thing, John. It's not a TV remote. It's solid all the way through. There must be some sort of microelectronics inside of it. I pressed a button on it, and the door just exploded."

"That's your excuse?"

"It's not an excuse John! Look, let me show you." Sherlock snapped. He snatched the thing out of John's hand and aimed it at where the bathroom door hand once been. He fiddled about with it first and then pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

He pressed it again and again, but still there was no effect. Sherlock frowned, shook it and held it to his ear. "Ugh…it's not working…" he groaned. "Well what do you expect it to do? Make the door magically reappear?" John retorted. Sherlock gave John a Look. One that clearly had the words 'shut up' written all over it. "It did something before. That little light's supposed to come on and it should make that funny buzzing noise." Sherlock hit the thing against the table and pressed the button again.

Nothing happened.

Frustrated and angry, Sherlock threw the pen-like thing across the room. It hit the shelf and let off multiple sparks, catching the Union Jack sofa cushions on fire. John gaped. Sherlock's expression didn't change. He stood, watching the flames flicker and slowly burn through the denim fabric on the cushions whilst John struggled to put it out with a damp tea towel.

After the fire was no more, John turned to face Sherlock. There were bags under his eyes; suggesting he only had about 4 hours sleep a day and had been staring at his laptop screen for too long. There were stress lines on his face. "I want you to get rid of that _thing_." John said, chest heaving, "Throw it way, take it to St Bart's for testing-I don't care. Just get it well away from here."

Sherlock went over to pick up the thing. His grip tightened on it. The envelope was the most exciting thing that had happened to him all week; he didn't want it to be over just yet. "John! This could be the start of a very interesting case!" exclaimed Sherlock; he jumped up and down like a hyperactive child. John narrowed his eyes at him. "I don't think you get it, Sherlock. _I don't want a case." _He growled, "I don't want one! I want you to do something constructive for once, I want to come home from work, have cup of tea, go to bed and I want YOU to stop giving me stress!"

Sherlock huffed, plopping back down into his armchair. This was not the John he was used to. He had obviously been brainwashed by the boring business people to become more normal like them. Sometimes Sherlock didn't understand normal people. They were always getting stressed for no reason and were too wrapped up in technology, relationships and…ordinary stuff. "So you don't like solving crimes anymore? You don't want to? Should I go and leave you to do your ordinary things? Is that what you want?" John paused, his eyes widened, "No-I mean…no…I've just come back from work, it's the middle of the night, shouldn't you be asleep?" he asked, quickly changing the subject. Sherlock pursed his lips. "I don't need sleep. I need to think."

"Well why don't you 'think' somewhere else?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Sherlock got up, taking his coat and scarf from the cupboard. He shuffled it on, turned the collar up and wrapped the scarf around this neck. "Where are you going?" John questioned, suddenly regretting what he had last said. He didn't want Sherlock to go outside. The streets of London were dangerous-especially at night. "Out." Sherlock replied sharply, padding out of the living room and to the front door. "Somewhere where I can think." He walked out of the door and slammed it behind him.

John opened his mouth and closed it again.

Sherlock stepped out into the dark London night. The cold scratched at his face, making his nose turn bright red and his hands feel numb. He could see small foggy clouds in the air every time he breathed out. It was so cold, Sherlock considered turning back around, but instead, he walked on. A very mean looking Doberman pinscher bared its teeth and growled at Sherlock as he passed. A chain around the dog's neck connected to a pole was the only thing that stopped it from tearing him to shreds. Sherlock treaded blindly in the streets for a while, bumping into a few drunks along the way. They shouted obscenities and spat at him. Sherlock finally stopped in front of a streetlight. He took the long piece of metal out of his pocket. It felt warm in the palm of his hand. He then pointed it at the streetlight.

_This is stupid, so stupid. Why the hell am I doing this? I must look strange pointing a lump of metal at a streetlight. But still…when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, right? Right?_

Maybe not under these circumstances. He must have gone mental; believing that a stupid pen had magical powers. Sherlock closed his eyes and pressed the button.

_Turn the light off. Turn the light off. Turn it off…_

When he opened his eyes again, the streetlight had indeed been turned off and the whole road was nearly completely pitch black. Sherlock flicked the thing. It extended. He pressed the button again; it's claws opened, it made a soft buzzing noise and the lights turned on again. Sherlock grinned.

Lights on.

Lights off.

Lights on.

Lights off.

It didn't make any sense, but at the same time, it was extraordinary. Sherlock began to think that maybe this _thing_, whatever it was, might be a new classified technology. Something that hadn't yet been released to the public. Maybe, just maybe, this 'Doctor' was a doctor of science and robotics. Sherlock suddenly felt that he should never have picked up the envelope in the first place. It was in the wrong hands. But then again, finders, keepers they say…

Sherlock shivered. He knew where he was…he always did. However, he didn't know where he was going. He was wondering the streets aimlessly just to prove a stubborn point to John.

John.

Just the thought of his friend made him feel angry and upset. Emotions annoyed him. He wished they had an on and off button. They would creep up on you and drug you with good feelings that only lasted a short while and then torture you with horrible, wretched feelings that lasted for days on end. Sherlock was feeling wretched right now. He had lied to John. He wanted sleep. He needed it. To be truthful, he wanted nothing more right now, than to curl up on the sofa with a warm fire lit in the fireplace and to drift off into deep, well-needed sleep.

He was going to go back home.

He slid the metal object back into his pocket and turned to walk back to 221b until-

Someone grabbed him by the wrist. Someone strong. Sherlock thrashed about, twisting and turning and searching his coat for his revolver. But to his dismay, he had left it back at Bakers Street. Sherlock was restrained and in a weak position. He only managed to get a glimpse of his attacker but that was enough to make him yelp in fear. He saw a tall humanoid monster. It was wearing a formal charcoal suit and tie. Its face was that of an alien-a distorted grey coloured face, wrinkled skin and hollow eyes. It had three long fingers on each hand, like the talons of an eagle grasping it's prey. It made a low gurgling sound, like a mixture between a rattlesnake hissing and a lion growling. A snion. Sherlock couldn't believe what he was seeing. This creature was so menacing and nightmare-like and yet, it was right there in front of him. He saw it with his own eyes.

And then he forgot.

He was struggling; he didn't even know why he was struggling anymore. He squirmed and tried to wriggle free, but by the time he saw the syringe, it was too late. As it was inserted into his left hand, a chilling sensation shot up his body and the whole world was spinning. He was released but there was no point in it, he could not see where his was going.

_Mycroft appeared out of nowhere and laughed at him. 'Stop talking in circles Sherlock. Stop talking in circles' you look silly, I look silly. Go away Mycroft. Go away. Leave me alone. I want to be alone. _

He felt like he was falling for ages, but he knew he wasn't because he heard the _THUMP _as he hit the ground.

_Why are the trees walking? Trees don't walk. Or maybe they do. They're going to hurt me, John. They're going to hurt me. Everything hurts. Somebody help me._

His head was aching and it felt like he had broken something, but that didn't matter now. What mattered, was the creature. He could see it again. How could he ever have forgotten it? It opened its mouth and leaned over Sherlock. "Sssssleeep", it whispered in its oddly soothing snake-like voice.

_No. I won't._

_I want to watch the stars. The stars are moving just like I used to say. Told you. I used to sing about them. _

_The stars, the stars go by,_

_ across the inky midnight sky,_

_ a silent lonely lullaby,_

_ Goodbye._

_ I think that's how it went. They're like abcdefg. No. Not like that. Hellowhytonohelpgofinefunsleepfgwuegfw3oeyg. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. Why am I different? I don't want to be different anymore. It's okay to be different Sherlock; every living thing differs from another. The rings on the trunk of every tree all differ from each other and so do the stripes on every bumblebee. It's what makes everyone special. oegertrheutfgsdhtifrhdffiurdhtfrt4e8tuerutherythffgyhrphffhrdpyhrphpthpdhfhgihhifjkrhggihgirgg g Am I special? I love bumble bees. They go bzzzzzzzzz. They go woof. I had a bumblebee that went woof. I don't have friends though edugho4ghhgli gwdhtwpeyg w-hrwughwgphphhigpwhpgwetq8qwp pjnjqkf oiwjdjs_

_Agregeqr4q5yqth8r98yf308hr879h0ruieruioerwiuohqweoipuqriurqw89u0g0fg808ueiuoerwiuoherwuihrewyf536cryuewrihjeriuhruhdf87hoeyutcf_

_I don't want to sleep. Don't make me. I want to be alone. Don't make me. The game is on. The game is gone. I don't need sleep. Go away joohhhg. _

_Leave me alone_

_Leave me_

_Leave._


	2. Chapter 2: Deliver a Warning

**Chapter 2: Deliver a Warning**

The TARDIS made it's usual groaning, wheezing sound as the Doctor danced around the console flicking switches and pulling levers. They had just visited the planet Pyjamarite and Rory and Amy were still wearing the pyjamas that they had got there. "Where are we going, Doctor?" Amy yelled over the sound of the TARDIS shaking about. "You'll see!" The Doctor said, flashing her a wide grin. The TARDIS jolted and then stopped; everything was still. The Doctor hopped across the console room and flung the doors open to reveal a sloping alleyway filled with dodgy looking shops and spilt trashcans. In the distance, they could see the outlines of city buildings, merely dots on the horizon. "We're in London." Rory mumbled. "Yes we are!" the Doctor said, cheerfully patting Rory on the back. "So…we can go anywhere in space and time and you take us to London 2010?"

"Exactly!"

Amy rolled her eyes, "Isn't this a bit pointless?" she asked. The Doctor looked at her like she had asked the most outrageous question in the world. "_Pointless?" _He mirrored her words with added emphasis, "It's definitely _not _pointless. I have to do something very important."

"And that is?"

"I have to deliver a letter." The Doctor beamed at them. He pulled a letter out of his bigger-on-the-inside jacket pocket and waved it in their faces. Amy grabbed it from him, her eyebrows raised as she examined it for herself. "It's addressed to you." She said blandly, "You're sending a letter to yourself?"

"Yes Amy, it's very important that this letter arrives to me on Wednesday at exactly 1pm. I sense something very suspicious is going to happen on that day. I need to-"

"Something suspicious?" Rory cut in, rather rudely, "Where? What's in that envelope?" The Doctor's forehead creased and he narrowed his eyes at Rory. "Yes, yes. I was getting to that part." He gestured at the envelope and then resumed, "In this, is some of my possessions. My sonic, my TARDIS key and some other cool stuff. I suspect something very bad is going to happen around St Bart's hospital on that day. So I'm going to pretend to work there. Pretend to be human. No sonic; as that would be suspicious and inhumanly. I'm going to deliver this to Torchwood and they're going to send it back to me on the Wednesday. It's very important." The Doctor explained, putting the envelope away. "I don't get it." Rory said, frowning. "You will soon enough." The Doctor spun on his heels and headed for the door. Realising his companions weren't following; he turned back. "Well come on then! What are you waiting for?" he added, loosing patience. Amy folded her arms. "Doctor…" she said, "We're in our pyjamas."

"What's wrong with pyjamas? I love pyjamas! They're so warm and cosy." He remarked; Amy and Rory rolled their eyes again. "You know, I once saved earth in my pyjamas. Won a sword fight. Got my hand chopped off, but then I regrew it. Then I grew another me out of my hand…it's complicated. Funny what a man can do in his pyjamas…" the Doctor laughed, clapping his hands together. "When you're finished rambling about how your foot got chopped off…" Amy started, "Hand." The Doctor corrected her.

"Whatever. I really think we should get changed. If we go walking around the streets of London with our pyjamas on, people will think we've gone crazy."

"Fine…but be quick about it." The Doctor huffed, leaning against the console.

_Patience is stupid. I don't like waiting._

All three of them stepped out into the rain. Unfortunately for them, they had no umbrellas so they were stuck getting themselves soaked as the walked. "So where is this 'Torchwood'?" Rory asked as they past numerous closed shops. They had been walking for ages now; and were almost completely drenched. "Cardiff." The Doctor replied briskly. Amy's jaw dropped open, "_Cardiff?_" She exclaimed, "You realise we're in London right?"

"Yep! We're going to take a train from Bakers Street Station." He replied happily. Sometimes Amy did not understand the Doctor, he could have just landed the TARDIS straight in Cardiff, it was typical of him not to.

It was freezing. A gush of wind came and they struggled against it. Neither of them noticed when the wind managed to latch onto the envelope. It was carried through the air and blown far behind them.

They were now around the corner from Bakers Street Station. Rory had been given responsibility over the envelope and it was only now, of all times, that he realised it was gone. "Doctor…the letter" Rory mumbled, fumbling around in his coat pockets. "What about it?"

"It's…gone"

Both of them stared straight at Rory. Wide, accusing eyes and startled expressions. "It wasn't my fault!" Rory explained nervously, trying his best not to sound guilty. He bit his lip and tied his hands behind his back, "It was the wind! I mean, I didn't notice…I t-thought it was…. It was a mistake. You can always get another one right?"

The Doctor looked pale, he stared into space and then back at Rory. "Rory…" He said in a whisper that was barely audible. His voice sounded hoarse. "My life was inside of that envelope." He muttered.

"MY LIFE!"

He roared. Rory stumbled back, bewildered. It seemed as if the whole street had gone silent. Dead. Amy and Rory recoiled from him and cowered in the midst of the heavy rain. Silence. Quiet apart from the pitter-patter of the tears against the pavement-the sky was crying. "I'm sorry." Rory whispered, breaking the ghostly silence. The Doctor sighed. He looked young but at the same time, he seemed old and frail. "It's okay, Rory." He said, calming down. Rory had never seen the Doctor flip out like that, but he knew that beneath the smiles and childish manner, the Doctor had a darker side. The Oncoming Storm. "I shouldn't have shouted like that." The Doctor admitted, looking down at his feet, "But I need that envelope back."

They all looked at each other and nodded. "Come on then!" said Amy, trying to lift the mood. She raced ahead, "Let's retrace our steps." They ran and ran and ran, feet aching, shoes soaked, stomachs heaving.

_Out of breath out of breath out of_

The rain became heavier and it began to hail, making it hard to see where they were going. Rory stopped them at a street corner. "I think the envelope fell out somewhere around here" he said. They searched in every bin, underneath every car, beside every tree, and asked people passing by. They looked _everywhere. _The three of them were about to give up, when Amy spotted something, "There!" she shouted suddenly. The Doctor looked at her in surprise, "What?"

"I can see the envelope! It's over there!" she pointed down the end of the road, and there it was, flapping about in the wind. The Doctor squinted. A tall man was heading towards it. Shady looking figure. Hands in pockets, walking alone and wearing nearly all black; he looked like a shadow. High cheekbones, grey eyes like the colour of the raining sky, a lost soul. Then he stepped on the envelope. Rory's jaw dropped open, noticing the man too, "That guy's picking it up!" he exclaimed, slamming his hand over his mouth. The man had picked it up, slid it into his pocket and was walking off. Rory didn't even hesitate; he was the first to dash after the man; pushing past startled people, buttoning up his waterproof coat as he ran. He was not going to let the Doctor down a second time. The envelope was the only thing that mattered. The Doctor and Amy followed. He didn't want this envelope-he needed it. It contained all of his memories inside of a fob watch and his trusty sonic screwdriver. If he lost it now, he would lose a part of himself. They were running so fast; it was as if they were being chased. A blur speeding past.

The Doctor could see it coming. It was obvious. But Rory only the other hand, wasn't looking where he was going and the fall, it seemed, was inevitable. "Rory! Stop!" It was too late. Rory had already lost his footing and slipped backwards, colliding with the Doctor. They were already

f

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_SPLASH_

There they were, the three of them, piled on top of each other, drenched, looking like a bunch of idiots lying in a puddle. "Owwww" Amy moaned, rubbing her bruised shoulder, "You're sitting on me." She grimaced and clenched her teeth together. A middle-aged woman hurried up to them. She had a kindly face and rosy cheeks. "Oh my goodness!" she fretted, shaking her head, "Are you alright?"  
"Yes. I'm fine! Never been better." The Doctor lied, scrambling to his feet. The man that had taken the envelope was gone. As the woman help Amy and Rory to their feet, the Doctor peered around the street corner, for any sign of the man. "Excuse me…" he said politely, "You don't by any chance know the man we're looking for do you? He's tall-ish, has curly-ish hair and was wearing a black-ish coat and a scarf?" The woman looked up to the sky for a moment, as if thinking. The rain was beginning to ease off. "Yes I think I know who you mean." She said finally, "His name is Sherlock. Surprised you haven't heard of him."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, Sherlock Holmes. He's a detective that lives around here"

"Right…" Amy said, with concerned look on her face. She tried to hold in her laughter and nudged the Doctor.

"I met his friend once. John Watson. I have the address for-"

""Okay then." The Doctor interrupted, wringing out his wet jacket, "I really think we'd better go now. Things to do, places to go. Thank you so much for helping."

"You're very welcome." They shook hands and turned in opposite directions. Once the woman was out of sight, Amy burst out laughing. "I think she's a wacky one." She giggled, holding her hand to her head and making circling motions. Rory laughed too. The Doctor cocked his head to one side, "What do you mean?" he asked confusedly. "Well she's barking mad isn't she? She thinks she met a fictional character!"

"Yes I think you're right." The Doctor agreed, but he didn't laugh, he frowned. Nearly all hope was lost. Some of his greatest possessions were in the hands of a stranger. "I say we split up." He suggested. Amy and Rory nodded. "Great. Amy, Rory, ask people around this area if they've seen the envelope. I'll search around for the man."

"Okay, Doctor. Leave it to us." Amy winked and gave him a reassuring smile.

It was getting very late. The rain had stopped, but Amy and Rory were still wet from the puddle that they hand landed in earlier. Across the road from them was a traffic warden leaning against the wall of a corner shop. He had a morning stubble, a traffic warden cap that was too big for him, and a large STOP sign in his left hand. He was munching on a packet of digestive biscuits. "What about that guy?" Amy suggested, pointing out the traffic warden. Rory raised an eyebrow at her. "Why would he know where the envelope is?"

Amy shrugged, "It's worth a try."

They crossed the road and walked up to the traffic warden, who gave them a dirty look. "Um…hello." Amy said sheepishly. The traffic warden nodded in reply. "We were just wondering if you could help us."

The traffic warden sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, "mlook, I'm kmlind of mbusy 'ight now." He said, through a mouthful of chocolate biscuit, crumbs went flying. Amy sighed.

_He doesn't look very busy, _she thought, _lazing around, managing to eat a whole package of biscuits in the middle of the night like that…_

She tried to stay calm and polite, even though the man was getting on her nerves, "Please…" she begged, "I just want to know if you've seen a letter-uh-envelope anywhere around here."

The man swallowed, licked his lips and wiped his mouth on the same sleeve he had used to wipe his nose. "Envelope?"

Amy was beginning to wonder whether this man was purposely acting dumb. He looked friendly and charming, but deceptive at the same time. He was wearing a sort of cheesy grin, she couldn't tell if it was truthful or not. "Yes, an envelope. A big blue one with 'The Doctor' written across it in a black biro. We lost it somewhere around here."

"The Doctor? As in…the Time Lord?"

Rory was taken aback, Amy's eye's widened, "Yeah…do you know him?"

"Do you know him?"

"Yes actually. Well, we travel with him."

The traffic warden smiled warmly at her, "I think I saw someone drop the envelope you're talking about." He said. He waked, in a slouching manner, to a big white van and gestured for them to follow him. "I think it must have been blown under this van." he said. Amy and Rory crouched and leaned over, looking underneath the van. "I don't think it's here." Rory said.

"I don't think it is." The traffic warden agreed. He swung the STOP sign over their heads.

_THWACK_

He knocked them out.

The Doctor was in a police station. A police station seemed like a good place to ask around. After all, they knew police-y stuff. The Doctor paced around the wide reception room before he spotted a man in the corner of the room, sipping a cup of steaming tea. His hair was greying and his forehead creased, he seemed like a nice bloke. The Doctor skipped over to the man and shook his hand enthusiastically. "I'm looking for somebody. Kinda tall, curly hair, weird-looking cheekbones, wears a long black coat and a blue scarf. Sound like anyone you know?"

The man paused, putting his cup down on the desk beside him. Then he laughed, "Yeah I know him. That's Sherlock."

"Sherlock?"

"Yep. Sherlock Holmes; consulting detective. Good grief! Have you been living under a rock? He's been in the news a lot lately. He's pretty damn annoying but at the same time, he has a mind of a genius, I'll tell you. He's like a walking encyclopaedia!" The man snorted and laughed again. The Doctor stared out of the window.

_It just doesn't make any sense, but at the same time, it's extraordinary. Sherlock Holmes is a famous fictional character in a book series by Arthur Conan Doyle. I've read them…it's impossible! But still…when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, right. Right?_

Maybe not under these circumstances. He must have gone mental; believing that Sherlock Holmes actually existed. "Wait…did you say he was in a newspaper?" the Doctor asked, suddenly, "Do you happen to have one on you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. I was just reading one right now." He picked a newspaper off the desk and handed it to the Doctor. He read the headline. 'Blogger Detective And The Speckled Blonde.' As he read on, it became more and more unbelievable, but more amazing at the same time. The Doctor put the newspaper down and looked at the man in excitement. "So, Sherlock Holmes…is real?!"

The man nodded.

"Do you know what this means?"

The man shook his head.

"Neither do, but it's brilliant!" He stared at the newspaper again, like he could not believe his eyes, "Oh my! Great Galifrey!" He jumped up and down like a hyperactive child and began pacing around the police station. Everyone was staring at him. "It makes no sense! It's amazing! It's like some other dimension or parallel world or rip in the fabric of-"

"I really need to get going now." The man interrupted, "There's just been a kidnapping near the train station."

The word 'kidnapping' didn't make sense to the Doctor. It was like a kid having a nap or napping about kidding or kidding about napping. It his opinion, it would be much more logical to call it something like 'human-stealing'. The Doctor frowned at the man. "Oh?"

"Yes. About fifteen minutes ago some girl and a skinny dude with a long nose got taken."

"Nose…" the Doctor paused staring into space, "Train station…oh no…"

_But it couldn't be._

The Doctor walked up and down the room, muttering to himself, the man stared at him.

_But it must be._

The Doctor had a hunch. A very bad hunch. But he was 99% certain about it. Without thinking or saying thank you to the man, he ran out of the train station, knocking someone over on his way.

Lestrade sighed. What a lunatic.

The letter didn't matter now. He didn't care about the envelope anymore. What mattered, were his friends. He couldn't lose them now. He couldn't lose Amy and Rory. They were his everything. For once in 1000 years, he had a family-he wasn't going to let it go so easily.

_I mustn't lose them._

_I can't lose them._

_I don't want to lose them._

Amy and Rory were gone.

At first, John Watson, wasn't the slightest bit worried. Sherlock was just being stubborn. He'd come back within five minutes.

Five minutes passed.

They passed sssssssllllllloooooooooooowwwwwwwwllllllllyyyy. Each second felt like a minute; each minute felt like an hour.

_There's no need to worry._

An hour passed, John's eyes were drooping and sore. It was 2am in the morning. John knew he had been a bit harsh on Sherlock, but where had he gone? John was not going to sleep until Sherlock returned. Easier said than done.

In the morning John woke up expecting to find Sherlock sunk in his armchair, reading in a good book. He wasn't there. John expected Sherlock to come back. He didn't

John checked all over. He asked Mrs Hudson, phoned Greg, Molly and Mycroft, but none of them had seen him. It felt awfully empty without Sherlock lying on the sofa whinging about how bored he was. The siting room felt half alive. John had a horrible lurching, doubting feeling deep down in his stomach.

_What if something's happened?_

John was about to go outside and search for Sherlock, when he heard something.

_Knock knock knock knock_

The door. It must be Sherlock…thank God. John got up from the chair he had fallen asleep on and lazily rubbed his eyes. He trudged towards the front door and opened it, expecting to find Sherlock. Instead, an awkward young man with ridiculous hair dressed in tweed was standing at the doorway. "Hello, I'm the Doctor." He introduced himself and smiled at John. "We're not accepting any cases today." John said tiredly, "Sherlock isn't here."

"I know. I'm here to see you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. It's an honour to meet you, John Hamish Watson." He pulled John into a tight hug and looked up at him with sad watery eyes. John was confused.

_How does he know my middle name? I never tell anyone my middle name._

"Why are you here?" he asked, becoming even more frustrated.

"I'm here to help you, John. Because you have a problem, am I correct?"

"Who are you?"

The Doctor ignored him, "You have a problem, am I correct?" he repeated. John sighed. "Yes." He admitted, "My friend, Sherlock. I don't know where he's gone."

The Doctor looked at him, "He's not coming back."


End file.
